The Minister and the Muggle
by Marcus Mortimer Caesar
Summary: The Potter library had always been big. But when James Potter stumbled across a book while taking refuge, his father insisted that they read it. The result? A very interesting lesson on morals, ethics and politicians.
1. Prologue

The Minister and the Muggle ****

The Minister and the Muggle

__

By Mortimer Marcus Caesar

**__**

Note from the author:

This is dedicated to my very dear friends Andrew and Elizabeth who have kindly allowed me to base the characters of Andrew and Elizabeth Potter on them. All credit for the names of the Potter children belongs to Elizabeth, and the quirkier aspects of their personalities can be attributed to Andrew. 

Thanks must be extended to Andy, Lizzy and Arabella for proof-reading this on my behalf. Without their support, publishing would be impossible.

****

Prologue

****

2118 – Arlington Court, Kent, England

James George Potter kicked the chair angrily, letting out a yelp when his bare foot came in contact with cold, hard wood.

"OWW!" the seven-year-old screeched, flopping down in the nearest armchair. He examined his big toe. It looked all right, if a little bit red and puffy. It would be bruised black and blue in a few hours.

"Stupid Isabelle," he muttered. "All her bleedin' fault, telling Rus where Pops put the Dungbombs..." The Isabelle in question was his sister, who had informed their five-year-old brother Sirius (who was a bit of a pyromaniac) exactly where their father, Andrew Potter, hid his large stash of Dungbombs.

And now, the kitchen was in shambles, the babysitter was in hysterics, and Sirius was happily throwing chunks of what used to be the kitchen sink at a flock of birds that were wallowing in the birdbath. Of course, Sirius's twin brother, Mortimer Caesar, more commonly referred to as Morty, managed to sleep through the whole fiasco and Lily was too immersed in her latest daydream to bother with such minor details as part of the house getting blown up. Isabelle was too busy preparing her apology speech ("Sir, Mummy, it was all James's fault!") to help clean up, and James wasn't about to assume the role of housekeeper.

So, here he was, hiding out in the only room of the house no one ever went to... the library.

It was a large, dusty room, with several windows and a brick fireplace, as well as about half a dozen dark burgundy armchairs, and, finally, several bookshelves. Magically expanded, the Potter library held hundreds of books, unseen until called for. The most recent additions to the library were out in the front shelves, while the older tomes could be found in the back.

Whenever Andy needed to research a certain elusive potion or a little known Dark Arts creature, he would use a special Summoning Charm, and usually, the book was received in a matter of seconds. However, none of the children were allowed to do magic, and for research or leisure reading (which, needless to say, there was very little of), an excruciatingly long search through the bookshelves was necessary. Very rarely, a book happened to fall into one of their hands, and turn out to be the one that they were searching for.

James didn't like the library much. It was closed up and stuffy, while he liked being outside and playing Quidditch with his dad. He was the only one in the family that had a fascination with the sport, and several times he searched through the archives to find a dog-eared copy of "Quidditch Through the Ages", his favourite. It had belonged to his many greats grandfather, Harry Potter, and though the book was much outdated, he loved to read the comments that Harry and his friends scrawled in the margins. To him, the Boy Who Lived was just another legend, but in a way, the book made him more human and real to James.

He decided that now would be a good time to brush up on some Quidditch statistics, and got up from his armchair. James limped over to the nearest bookshelf, looking for the familiar faded green book jacket. He caught a glimpse of something dark green on the top shelf, and he grasped the edge with his fingers, attempting to pull himself up.

His hand was inches away from the book, his eyes and nose barely reaching past the shelf. He reached forward, his fingers brushing the cover, and – 

BOOM!

The bookshelf toppled over, and James fell along with it. He didn't have time to scream, and if he had, the thunderous racket that erupted in a matter of seconds would have drowned out the noise. The library itself seemed almost offended at such an intrusion and disruption of peace.

As the dust settled down, James found himself tightly grasping an old, dark blue book. The cover read in bright silver lettering (probably magically preserved), "The Minister and the Muggle", by Mortimer Marcus Caesar.

It didn't look much like Quidditch to James.

"JAMES!" their babysitter's voice could be heard from the other end of the house. "What have you done, you little-"

James gulped. Their babysitter was eighteen and just out of Hogwarts, a graduate of the Hufflepuff house named Helen Smith. Hufflepuffs were supposed to be patient and toiling, but Helen was as impatient and lazy as you could get. Her idea of a healthy lunch for five growing children was cereal, with a piece of buttered toast if she was feeling generous. Lily often wondered why she was even hired, since Helen couldn't cook, clean, or tell stories. Isabelle liked Helen because she would let her read her copies of "Teen Witch Weekly" after she finished with them, so, naturally, James had to loathe her. The feeling was quite mutual.

And now, Helen burst into the library, raising another storm of dust. James coughed and sneezed, wiping the dust out of his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. Helen looked from James to the toppled bookshelves, and back. She blinked in amazement, and her mouth fell open. She was speechless (quite a rare occurrence, James managed to note in-between coughs).

"JAMES GEORGE POTTER, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" she screeched. James winced, then made a face. Isabelle was standing behind Helen, a smug look on her face. He was going to get it from her... Sirius was next to Isabelle, his hair dishevelled, and a lit firecracker in his hand. He looked ready to place it between the folds of Isabelle's robes while she was busy gloating.

Behind them all, stood Morty, still in his pyjamas. He was clutching a light blue blanket, his thumb in his mouth, and his father's hat on his head. It was too big on him and slid down to cover his eyes, forcing him to be making constant swiping motions at his forehead. James wanted to slap him for looking so innocent. Lily was holding Morty's hand and watching the whole disaster in amusement.

"I was... getting a book...?" James said weakly, moving "The Minister and the Muggle" to his chest.

"Take your book and go to your room. If I see your face downstairs again, you will be in so much trouble, young man..." Helen started. She seemed ready to go off into another lecture, when the sound of a door shutting and opening was heard.

Laughing voices rang out, and stopped abruptly when they reached the kitchen.

"Oh my God... Sirius!" a female voice rang out, and rapid footsteps retreated from the kitchen, and into the living room. Another, heavier pair followed them, and a deeper voice said something incoherent, the tone laced with a cross between anger and worry.

"Children!" Elizabeth Potter, known as Lizzy to friends and family, entered the family library. She recovered from shock quickly when she saw all five of her offspring safe and sound. "Oh, Andy, they're all right!"

"What were they bloody doing out there?" Andy Potter, a short, slightly chubby man of thirty-five, followed his wife into the room. He seemed to be more in shock of the pile of books littering the floor than the destroyed kitchen.

"What? Who?" was all that he could choke out as he turned a vivid shade of red, then blue, then, finally, maroon.

Even Isabelle, who had never been in serious trouble before, looked scared out of her wits. As for Sirius and James, the two felt as though if they hid on the other end of the earth and changed their names, their father would still hunt them down and punish them to the fullest possible extent.

"Sir, I can explain-" James, being the eldest, started.

"My kitchen is a huge gaping hole in the house. My library resembles a war zone. I have left my children alone for three hours, and my house is destroyed?" he said, his voice first very quiet, then gradually increasing in volume, and finally reaching a loud forte.

"It was an accident!" Sirius squeaked, and hid behind Isabelle, forgetting all about the lit firecracker, which went off at that moment.

Needless to say, more chaos erupted in the already turbulent atmosphere. Lily and Lizzy screamed identical high-pitched yells, while Isabelle grabbed the flaming object (somehow managing not to get burnt), and threw it at Sirius. Unfortunately she missed, and hit yet another bookshelf, which toppled over on top of Andy, knocking him out cold. Helen stared in awe, and Morty put his blanket over his head, following the ostrich philosophy of "if you can't see it, it's not there".

The library wondered what it had done to deserve such abuse.

***

"Is Sir dying?" Morty whispered in awe, reaching forward to poke Andy's shoulder. Lizzy grabbed his hand away gently.

"Of course not, honey, don't be so morbid," she whispered back. Morty didn't look very convinced, so he covered Andy's head with his blanket, and sat down Indian style next to the unmoving body.

"It's your entire fault, Jamesy," Isabelle whined. James shot her an unhappy look.

"Don't you call me Jamesy! Besides, YOU threw the firecracker that hit the bookshelf that hit Sir!" James retaliated. Isabelle subdued slightly, then gave Rus (what was supposed to be) an evil stare. James thought that she looked like an angry hamster.

"I didn't know Is'belle would throw it at Sir!" he mumbled. James threw his sister a triumphant look.

"See, it WAS your fault!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Was n-"

"Owww," Andy groaned quietly. He opened his eyes slightly to see the concerned face of his wife hovering above him, as well as his five children surrounding him in a semicircle.

"Will the two of you shut it?" The usually passive Lily finally lost her temper, almost yelling at her siblings. Andy snorted. Lily was a dead ringer for Lizzy when she got angry like that. All she needed was an apron and a pair of knitting needles.

"Sir! Sir's okay!" Morty announced. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief.

Andy struggled upwards, grabbing onto an overturned table and pulling himself up. "What – what happened to me?" he questioned as he rubbed a rapidly growing bump on the back of his head.

"You fell down, Daddy," Isabelle said meekly, exchanging furtive glances with Sirius.

"I did?" Andy asked, his voice uncertain and quieter than usual, not noticing that his daughter had called him Daddy instead of the requisite 'Sir'. He remembered coming home, and then seeing his kitchen, and his library…

"Actually, you fell down with a little help from the bookshelf, which had a little help from Isabelle," James squeaked, and hid behind Lily before Isabelle had a chance to throw something at him.

"It's not my fault, Rus threw the firecracker at me first!"

"Did not!"

"Did, too!"

Lizzy looked torn between reprimanding her children and rushing to help her husband. "Isabelle, James, do stop bickering! Now, help your father!"

James, still clutching the book to his chest, tip toed over to Andy. Isabelle followed his suit, slouching so that she would be less visible behind her younger brother.

"Sirius, did you put a firecracker in Isabelle's robes?" Andy asked sternly, giving his youngest son a strict look.

"Yessir," the boy answered meekly, sniffling and getting ready to burst into fake tears.

"You'll be punished, of course. I think that it's about time you start reading aloud." 'Reading aloud' was the dreaded afternoon activity that Andy insisted on. He would pick out a book, usually a novel of at least five hundred pages, and have one of the children read aloud. It was considered a most refined form of torture by all of the Potter children, since Andy wouldn't let them stop until at least one chapter was read (all the words pronounced correctly), and several questions about the context answered. Mortimer and Sirius had avoided the torment on account of being too young, but Andy reasoned that if Sirius was old enough to pull pranks, he could manage a few pages of "War and Peace"…

"Sir, please, anything but that!" Sirius whined.

"No, Sirius, really. I believe that cultural enrichment is…" Lily, Isabelle, James, Morty, and Sirius groaned. It was the 'cultural enrichment' speech, and Andy could go on for hours and hours about the benefits of reading classic literature.

Lizzy, who had stayed quiet throughout most of this event, finally spoke up. "Andy, dear, we should get you to bed. You took a bad fall, you can't honestly continue with the reading tonight!"

"Nonsense, Lizzy! I'm perfectly alright, in the best of health, as a matter of fact." Andy never skipped a night of reading yet, except, of course, on Christmas and New Year's Eve. He also considered being ill a weakness, and never permitted Lizzy to give him so much as a Pepperup Potion when he had the flu. Sometimes he would take a Muggle pill called Advil for headaches, but none of the children could remember their father ever openly acknowledging not feeling well.

Lizzy always thought that denying the illness did little to help it, and was set on removing this silly tradition once and for all.

"You, go off to bed right now," she commanded to Andy. "And you three, go and help your father up the stairs," she motioned to Isabelle, Lily, and James. Lily sighed complacently, while James and Isabelle sported identical frowns.

"What book is that?" Andy questioned as he caught a glimpse of the cover. "'Quidditch Through the Ages' again?" he asked, smiling nervously and trying to change the subject, in an effort to deflect his wife. He would not - would _not -_ show weakness in front of the children.

"Noo," James mumbled. "It's just… something I found," he continued, and showed his father the cover. Andy whistled and slapped the smooth wood surface of the bookshelf excitedly.

"Why, it's 'The Muggle and the Minister'! By Mortimer Marcus Caesar! Lizzy, do you believe it? I thought we lost it… it must be the same copy, even! May I?" he took the book from James.

"Look!" he pointed at a messy scrawl that said 'Andy + Lizzy = 3' on the inside cover. "This book was something your mother and I read… when… we were in school together." He smiled dreamily. "It makes me feel so old!"

James cleared his throat. "Can I, uh, have it back?"

"Yes, as lovely as nostalgic thoughts are, shouldn't you be in bed, Sir?" Isabelle chimed in. Andy gave the two exasperated looks.

"NO, in fact, I think that we can put off our reading of 'War and Peace' for a few days, and read this instead. Oh, it's a great story, with romance and adventure and deceit, angst, humour…"

"Do stop before you give away the plot, Andy!" Lizzy exclaimed. "I think that it's a wonderful idea to let the children read the book. After all," she said, shooting Morty a fond look, "we named one of our children in honour of the author. And a genius man he was…

"But, Andy, dear, do go to bed first and let me call a doctor…"

Andy groaned but finally complied with his wife's requests and climbed up the stairs and into their bedroom, still holding onto the book.

James looked after him and wrinkled his nose. "I want my book back…"

***

All seven Potters were gathered in the living room, Andy was reclining in a large, overstuffed, and very battered armchair, a white bandage wrapped around his head. For no apparent medical reason, he was also wearing an eye patch, which was rather strange looking, as it tended to push his reading glasses down his nose.

Sirius was sulking, Isabelle was yawning, Lily was staring into space, and James was glaring at Sirius. Morty was asleep in his mother's arms.

"Well, Sirius, I believe it's time for you to start," Andy said sternly, handing the hefty volume to his youngest son.

Sirius sighed, and opened the book, skipping over the title page and going right to the first chapter. Andy cleared his throat pointedly.

"Oh, all right! The Minister and the Muggle, by Mortimer Marcus Caesar," Sirius started. "Chapter One: A Night on the Town.

"The November of 1981 was one of rejoicing. At last, the world was freed from a plog -"

"Plog?" Andy asked quizzically.

"I don't know how to say it!"

"Spell it out, Sirius," Lizzy suggested softly.

"P-L-A-G-U-E."

"That's plague, Sirius, plague."

"Right, plague." He continued reading.

"- plague so terrible that even to speak its name could condemn you. Finally, after years of frustration and bitter despair, good had triumphed over evil and Lord Volkiemort-"

"Volkiemort?"

"V-O-L-D-E-M-O-R-T."

"Voldemort. You know, not even your great grandfather's generation could say that word without shuddering. Volkiemort indeed."

"Sorry, sir." Sirius started reading again.

"- _Voldemort was no more. Celebration was the order of the day for people everywhere, whether they be rich or poor, old or young, powerful or pitiful…_

****

DISCLAIMER: The Minister and the Muggle is loosely based on Mark Twain's 'The Prince and the Pauper'. Characters and situations included in this story may belong to J. K. Rowling (with the exceptions of Andy and Lizzy, who belong to themselves). The author is making no profit from the distribution of this work. 


	2. Chapter 1 - A Night on the Town

The Minister and the Muggle

Author's note: This is dedicated to our friends, Andrew and Elizabeth, who have kindly allowed us to base the characters of Andrew and Elizabeth Potter on them. All credit for the names of the Potter children belongs to Elizabeth, and the quirkier aspects of their personalities can be attributed to Andrew.

Thanks must be extended to Arabella, Andy, and Lizzy for proof-reading this on our behalf. Without their support this project probably wouldn't have got past the planning stages.****

**The Minister and the Muggle**

_By Mortimer Marcus Caesar_

**Chapter 1 - A Night on the Town**

The November of 1981 was one of rejoicing. At last, the world was freed from a plague so terrible that even to say its name could condemn the speaker. Finally, after years of frustration and bitter despair, good had triumphed over evil and Lord Voldemort was no more. Celebration was the order of the day for people everywhere, whether they were rich or poor, old or young, powerful or pitiful.

When the news filtered through to the Ministry of Magic that Lord Voldemort was gone, Cornelius Fudge, a junior minister, and his personal assistant, Siân Lindsay, rejoiced along with the rest of the wizarding world. It was an ideal opportunity for a booze up, and when Siân suggested that her superior might want to do a pub-crawl with her, surprisingly, he did not object.

This invitation was not quite as innocent as it seemed. Siân Lindsay was not as sickly sweet as she first appeared. Unknown to Fudge, she had a secret agenda. Siân wasn't the cleverest of people, that much was obvious, but what she lacked in intelligence she made up for in deviousness and model good looks. Siân planned to marry her boss, and spend the rest of her life living in the lap of luxury. She came from the slums and through a combination of hard work and flattery had made it this far in the Ministry, and did not intend to return to her roots. Fudge offered an ideal escape mechanism.

"Mr Fudge!" she had exclaimed, when news of the Dark Lord's defeat had first reached her ears. "It's over! It's all over! We won!"

"What's that, Miss Lindsay?"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - he's gone!"

"Miss Lindsay, that isn't the kind of joke I would expect you to make!"

"Its not a joke," Siân said, perching on the corner of his desk and crossing her legs to expose more than was necessary of her shapely body. "A baby - Harry Potter, I believe. Well, it seems that You-Know-Who couldn't kill him. He's gone!" she smiled her most charming smile, and took out a compact mirror to apply another coat of bright red lipstick.

"Vanquished by a baby? Are you mad?" Fudge exclaimed, casting her a disapproving look. "It would take more than a child to get rid of him!" 

"Well, it's true," Siân told him, pouting. "And I wanted to know if you would like to come out for a celebratory drink after work. Drink to everybody's health and the future."

"I'm not sure that I have time, Miss Lindsay. I have a lot of work to do."

"Surely your work can wait?" she said, licking her lips seductively. "Its not every day that the wizarding world is saved, you know!"

"Well…" Fudge pondered, dubiously, "just a quick drink. That won't hurt anyone."

"I knew you'd come round," Siân purred. "Here are today's owls. Will you be wanting coffee, Mr Fudge?"

"No, thank you, Miss Lindsay. I will be busy for the next hour or so, if you could ensure that I am not disturbed." It was a command more than a question. Siân nodded a silent assent, and the day continued as usual, a minor interlude with an over-enthusiastic vigilante notwithstanding.

Siân spent the day watching the clock, desperate to get Fudge away from the dreary regulation of the office to the upbeat nature of the surrounding pubs. Once she had plied him with drink, seduction should be an easy matter. And that was her ultimate goal - seduction. If she could seduce Fudge then she might be able to get him to become involved with her by laying on the guilt trip, or, if that failed, blackmail. It was very much discouraged by the Ministry to be romantically involved with your subordinates, and besides, she was sick and tired of being at his beck and call, obliged to hang on to his every word.

Of course, Siân could have searched for a rich husband elsewhere, but that would have taken time and effort, and why bother when Fudge was there, ready for the taking? With a little encouragement, she was sure that she could win him round to her way of thinking. Every minute seemed to last a lifetime, but at long last, Fudge emerged from his office, and Siân pounced.

"No more appointments for today, Mr Fudge."

"Thank you, Miss Lindsay."

"Shall we go for that drink, then?"

"Why not?" Fudge smiled. Cornelius Fudge had the potential to be an attractive man, but his short, portly form, coupled with a very outdated dress sense did nothing for him. Siân's eyes hurt every time she had to look at his ghastly bright orange tie matched with his plaid robes. That, of course, would be one of the first things that Siân would change when they were married.

The Ministry buildings were works of art, appreciated by even the least knowing of those who worked there for their pure beauty. Centuries had passed since they had first been erected, and during this time, more and more Security Charms had been used to make them safe. As Siân and Fudge left the building, he turned to admire them, as was his custom. Siân pulled him along, impatient to get to Diagon Alley, and from there, to the nightlife.

"Really, Miss Lindsay, is it necessary to rush like this?" Fudge demanded, gasping for breath as his assistant practically dragged him through the streets.

"Yes," she replied, shortly. "You have a lot of work to do later, remember?" Of course, Siân did not plan on having Fudge return to his office that night, but when presented with an opportunity, she wasn't going to pass it up.

"You have a point," Fudge agreed, pensively. "Thank you, Miss Lindsay, I'll bear that in mind."

"Hush," Siân told him, authoritatively. "There's to be no talk of work when we're playing for pleasure…"

*****

Donal Ogilvy was a Muggle, and a very observant one, at that. Throughout the day, he'd noticed strange goings on, but they were soon put out of his mind by matters closer to home.

"Daddy?" it was his elder daughter, Grace.

"Grace, darling, how many times have I told you not to phone me when I'm working?" he demanded, gently rebuking her. Donal was a high flying corporate barrister, who believed that work belonged at work and home belonged at home. The very nature of his job, however, meant that this philosophy resulted in him spending more time at the office in the company of pointless bureaucracy than at home with his wife and two daughters.

"But Daddy!" Grace protested, "you're never at home! I really need to talk to you!"

"What about?" Donal asked, resigned to the inevitable.

"Well, you remember the other day, when I went out with Jennie and Claire and met this guy…?"  
"No, darling, I don't. Are you sure this can't wait?"

"Yes, I'm sure. His name was Sean Finnegan, and I rather think he liked me."

"Yes, dear, whatever," Donal began, before realising what his daughter had said. "GRACE EUGENIE NATASHA OGILVY!!!" he exploded. "You should not be thinking that way at your age!" He could hear her sigh.

"Father, dear, I'm eighteen. I'm not a little girl any more. And, I wanted to know if you'd let me go out with him tonight."

"Ask your mother," Donal replied. "Honestly, Grace, I thought that this was important!"

"It is!" Grace insisted. "I asked Mum, and she said I had to ask you. Isn't that typical of parents?" she complained. "It's always up to the other to make the decision."

"Darling, as you rightly pointed out, you are eighteen years old. You can do as you damn well please!" Donal told her, exasperated. "Go out with this Sean person if you really feel you ought to. Just don't blame me if it all ends in tears."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Grace exclaimed, down the phone-line. "I love you Daddy, I really do. You won't regret this, I promise."

"Yes, Grace, whatever you say," Donal replied. "Now, I know this is hard to understand, but I do actually have some rather important work to do-"

"It's okay, Dad, I'm going. I probably won't see you later, so bye!"

"Bye," Donal put the phone down and sighed. He didn't know what to do with his children sometimes. He'd told them time and time again that they were not to disturb him at work unless something really drastic had happened, like the house catching fire, or one of them being involved in an accident. Even with this stipulation, either Grace, or his younger daughter, Stella, could be relied on to interrupt his work. Admittedly, it was usually Grace, but this sort of thing really wasn't acceptable.

Donal was ruthlessly efficient at his work. He never did anything by halves, which was perhaps the key to his success. He had been a model student - straight A's throughout his school degree, a first class Master's degree in law, and a top-notch business post. All in all, he had done rather well for himself. But, as is usually the case, success came with a price. Increasingly, Donal was isolated from his family. Of course, his heart was in the right place - he simply wanted to ensure that his family had the best of everything - but that did not prevent his wife and daughters from becoming resentful of his work. Today was no different from any other day, and when Donal eventually knocked off at nine thirty that night, he didn't expect to see many people in the business part of town.

****

By half past nine that evening, Cornelius Fudge was slightly worse for wear. Unaccustomed to excessive drinking, he became high after a couple of Potter on the Rocks - a drink created in honour of Harry Potter's defeat of the Dark Lord. 

It was comical to see the normally stately Mr. Fudge bouncing around on a champagne high. His speech, normally perfectly enunciated, had become more and more 'common' as the evening went on. By the time he had made it to his fourth Bludger Bomber, he was ready to move on. The only problem with this seemingly flawless plan was that he had, at some point in the evening, either lost Siân, or forgotten exactly who she was. Much loosened by the excessive consumption of alcohol, Fudge decided to be a devil.

"I'm going to explore Muggle London!" he slurred excitedly as he wobbled out of the pub. He tottered along the many streets they had travelled down on their way to the nightlife, waving to all and sundry, and generally making a fool of himself. Eventually, he made it to the entrance to Diagon Alley, and so, to Muggle London, before passing out completely.

****

Donal generally walked to and from work if the weather was fine. In the traffic congested centre of London it was the logical thing to do. Almost every day, he passed the same street of shops, including a bookshop and a record store. 

He had never noticed the alley between the two shops before. Perhaps it was the figure, sprawled untidily on the ground that grabbed his attention. Regardless, Donal knew that he could not leave the unconscious person alone in London at that time of night, especially in their current state of helplessness. He approached them carefully. His years in London had taught him that anything could be suspicious, and he had no desire to regret being a model of society.

"Hello?" he asked, cautiously. "Can you hear me?" There was no reply. Donal knelt by the figure, which he now knew to be a man, trying to find some sort of identity. The man's face was obscured by the darkness that enveloped them, but Donal's sharp eyes caught the pinstriped pattern of the robes the man was wearing. That in itself was strange – who, other than a lunatic, wore robes nowadays? Still, the man was in no position to answer any questions. He showed no signs of waking up, and the November air was chilly. Donal tried to find some sort of ID, but his search proved fruitless. In the end, he made a decision.

"Right, well," he began. "You're clearly in no position to look after yourself, so I suppose I'd better get you somewhere warm and dry, sharpish." Hearing the distinctive rhythmic hum of a black cab engine, he flagged a vehicle down, and pulled the man in to it.

"Where to, mate?" the driver asked, his tone containing traces of a friendly cockney burr.

"The King Charles Hotel, please," Donal replied. Taking the man home was out of the question. Donal did not want his children to be exposed to the distressing sight of an unconscious man, and his wife would probably not approve. He decided that the best course of action would be to check into the hotel, then phone home and explain that something had cropped up.

"Been to Charlie's before, have you?" the cabbie enquired, in a friendly fashion.

"Yes," Donal replied shortly.

"I've heard it's right flash," the cabbie told him, ignoring Donal's obvious unwillingness to talk. "The wife went there in her youth. One of her friends, their father was loaded, and they had their wedding reception there. This was before I'd met her, of course. She said it was a bit on the posh side, you understand?"

"Yes," Donal replied again, not really paying much attention to the cabbie's amiable gabbling. He'd never had the King Charles down as being a particularly classy hotel - he'd been there a couple of times for business lunches, and, while the service was impeccable, there was nothing about the place that screamed 'come back' at him. The only reason they were going there now was because it was the first place that popped into Donal's head. Unfortunately, the hotel also happened to be on the other side of the city, meaning that Donal had to spend an unfortunately large amount of time with the over-familiar cabbie. At last they made it

"Here you are mate, alright?"

"Thank you," Donal alighted, dragging the man's dead weight with him, and paid the cabbie before entering the building and booking into a room. 

Having draped his companion on the settee - rather artistically, it has to be said - Donal made use of the phone that the hotel provided, dialling his home number.

"Hello, Surrey two-three-four, eight-seven-six, who's calling please?" Donal recognised his wife's voice immediately.

"Erin, darling, it's me."

"Donal! We were expecting you home hours ago!"

"I'm sorry, dearest, but something's cropped up. I won't be home tonight."

"Oh," Erin's voice became rather dejected, but Donal didn't seem to notice. "Okay then. You will be home tomorrow, though?"

"I promise you that I'll be home tomorrow," Donal agreed. "I'm really sorry, Erin. I'll make it up to you."

"Okay. You take care. I love you!"

"I love you, too. Bye!" Donal replaced the phone, and turned to look at the figure on the sofa.

"I hope you realise just how much trouble you're causing me!" he told the man, at the same time taking in the fact that the person on the couch seemed to be his double. "I'm going to bed now, and woe betide you if you wake me up at some ungodly hour. For goodness' sake, if you do wake up, try and keep the noise down!"

****

When Cornelius woke the next morning, he wondered where he was. He looked around, to see a room painted in the palest of yellows with blue accessories, a huge bowl of fruit and a strange device that had a very…Muggle appearance. Further examination confirmed his original theory, and by a process of deduction, he decided that the device was, in all probability, a teletone. Or something like that, anyway. 

It took Fudge a while to realise that he was not alone in the room - on the bed a figure was sleeping peacefully, fully clothed. Cornelius started. Fully clothed in _Muggle_ clothes. He vaguely remembered deciding to give the Muggle world a try the previous night. Still slightly inebriated, he decided to examine the man on the bed. Slowly, with stealth amazing in a man so drunk, he approached the man, being careful not to wake him. When he got close enough to see the man's face in detail, he was surprised to note that the two of them could be passed off as identical twins, they were that similar.

In a kind of drunken stupor, Fudge considered his options. He could leave the hotel there and then, but there was a possibility that this Muggle might know more about him than he should. Until the man on the bed woke up, Fudge would have to sit tight. He went back to admiring his surroundings, and was intrigued by the bizarre looking cubicle with some kind of appendage and a tap. He turned the tap on and was showered with water. In the back of his mind, he remembered long ago Muggle Studies lessons, and realised that the cubicle was in fact a shower. Thinking hard, he tried to remember just what it was that Muggles did in showers, and, after much contemplation, it came to him that they washed in there. Cornelius decided that he wanted to try this Muggle contraption out. 

****

Donal was rudely awakened from pleasant slumbers by the sound of somebody using the shower. A quick glance at the sofa told him that his mystery companion was the one creating the racket. Okay, so Donal sang in the shower occasionally, but the sounds that came from the bathroom could scarcely be described as singing. Caterwauling would be more accurate, in Donal's opinion. So much for peace and quiet. As Donal decided to interrupt the man, the singing abruptly stopped, and his companion appeared clad in no more than one of the hotel's towels, brown hair wet, and skin water-wrinkled.

"Good morning," Donal greeted him, courteously. "I'm Donal Ogilvy."

"Cornelius Fudge," the man replied.

"I hope you aren't offended by me bringing you here," Donal said, politely. What he wanted to say was not repeatable in acceptable society.

"Not at all," Cornelius replied. "I'm grateful for your assistance." Donal regarded him curiously. He seemed to be a nice enough fellow - if you ignored his idea of music - although, one sentence was scarcely enough of a conversation for him to form and opinion of the man.

"Forgive me my curiousity," Donal began, "but why were you lying unconscious in the street?"

"That," Cornelius replied, "is something I would like to know for myself."

"Were you attacked?" Donal asked worriedly.

"I don't think so," Cornelius replied.

"Don't you remember anything?" Donal demanded.

"I'm afraid I don't," Cornelius told him. Donal reassessed him. There was something about his replies that just didn't ring true.

****

Cornelius regarded Donal Ogilvy with interest. This man was certainly nosy. Suddenly, Cornelius had a brainwave. As is often the case when under the influence of alcohol, he was not thinking in quite his usual fashion. _I'm tired of working at the Ministry. It's boring; besides which, it got me into this situation in the first place, _he thought. _It would be so easy to swap places with this man. We look so similar that I'd be able to get away with it._ Donal was busy telling him something, so Cornelius nodded enthusiastically, without having a clue as to what was actually going on.

At this point, he had forgotten that he was a wizard, and the fact that he could knock Donal Ogilvy out with a simple Stunning Spell seemed to have eluded him. On the table next to the chair he was sitting in, there was a Bible. In the bathroom he had seen a rather heavy looking toilet plunger. Cornelius looked from the hotel Bible to the toilet plunger, and back. _I'm an atheist and a politician_, he thought. _I'm going to burn anyway_, he decided, and proceeded to hit Donal over the head with the Bible. Ogilvy's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he slipped into unconsciousness. Cornelius smiled a slightly mad smile, and stripped Donal down to his underwear, before donning the Muggle's clothing himself. He then dressed Donal in his own pinstriped robes. By this time, he had remembered the rudiments of his magical knowledge, and a quick Scouring Charm cleaned his robes of any unpleasant substances, rendering them as good as new. Donal now looked just like Cornelius, and vice versa.

It was at about this point that Cornelius realised that swapping places with Donal would be rather hard, as he knew nothing about the man. However, unlike Cornelius, Donal carried his wallet with him everywhere, and inside his wallet was a card with his address and telephone number on. Of course, Cornelius knew very little about telephones, but his basic education in Muggle Studies meant that he knew that was what the ten digit number was called. Having crossed that hurdle, he realised that for Donal, it would be rather hard to work in the Ministry with no magical skill. However, a couple of clever charms solved that problem. Donal would not be able to actually do magic, but he would be able to look competent on the rare occasions when magic was necessary. Cornelius knew that most of his work could be done the Muggle way. It might take longer to do so, but it would work.

Having got Donal kitted out, Cornelius made his way back to Diagon Alley. He needed to get the Muggle into his office and explain what was going on to him before he went any further.

****

Christopher James worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - DMLE for short. As an Auror, his job was to keep the peace within the wizarding world. Or rather, it should have been. However, during Voldemort's rise to power, the Aurors had turned into an army more than a police force, and he had been required to spend a lot of his time hunting the Death Eaters that were causing so many problems for society. Ever since the Dark Lord's downfall, Christopher had been required to work for long hours in an effort to see that all of these Death Eaters were now brought to justice. It was this quest that brought him to Diagon Alley at the wee hours of the morn.

It was about seven thirty in the morning when Christopher noticed two figures entering the Alley. Normally this wouldn't have roused his attention, but one of the figures was dragging the other. He approached for a closer look, and was astonished to see a Muggle man dragging a wizard, instantly identifiable as a Ministry official by his pinstriped robes, into the Alley.

****

Everything was going well. Cornelius had managed to get Donal as far as Diagon Alley without any major mishaps. He was feeling rather proud of himself, to be honest. It wasn't every day a plan went so smoothly. He was just catching his breath when a wizard, most likely an Auror (he was wearing an ID badge), approached.

"Excuse me," he began. "But may I ask what you're doing?" the Auror started. 

"I found this man a few meters away," Cornelius explained. "I was trying to get him somewhere safe and comfortable before getting medical help." That was another thing about being a junior Minister. You became particularly efficient at bending the truth.

"What's your name, sir?" the Auror demanded.

"Donal Ogilvy," Cornelius replied, quickly remembering the name the Muggle had given him.

"Well, Donal, if you'd like to come with me, we'll see about getting this man some treatment," the Auror told him.

"Thank you, sir," Cornelius replied. Of course, he knew what was coming. They would take him and Donal to the nearest hospital, revive Donal, and subject Cornelius to a mild Memory Charm, in an effort to conceal the wizarding world from the Muggle public. There were ways to counter these Memory Charms, but they were immensely complex, and Cornelius wasn't sure he'd be able to manage one. Still, it was worth a try.

While the Auror got Donal admitted to the hospital, Cornelius did his best to protect himself from what he knew was coming. But he had no idea of how much time he had before the dreaded charm would be performed. As it turned out, the Auror decided to deal with Fudge before Donal.

"I'm really sorry about this," he said, and he sounded truly apologetic.

"Sorry about what?" Cornelius feigned ignorance.

"_Obliviate!_" the Auror shouted, and suddenly, the world went black.

****

"Mummy…" Mortimer began, when the book had been closed, its pages marked with a handcrafted bookmark. This bookmark had been in use since Lily had been born, when Andy had announced his intention to 'enrich' his children's outlook on life. It had to be the most loathed bookmark in history. To the Potter children it was a symbol of their daily torture. 

"What is it, darling?" Lizzy asked her son.

"What's a seduce?" Mortimer's face was contorted in a frown, and he looked absolutely darling, his light brown hair flopping into his eyes, clutching his blanket as though it were his lifeline. Mortimer was by far the shyest of the Potters. His blanket went with him everywhere. Andy had recently been uttering concern at his son's devotion to the much-washed rag. He wasn't sure that being attached to such a thing when you were five years old was healthy. 

"A seduce?" Lizzy looked at her son in astonishment, before turning to her husband, a worried look on her face. "Andy, honey, maybe reading this wasn't such a good idea after all."

"Nonsense, dear," Andy replied, waving away his wife's doubt. "It's very educational. And if Morty wants to know what seduction is then he has a right to be told the truth."

"But darling!" Lizzy protested. "He's five!" Andy glared at her.

"Something that I am well aware of," he pointed out, patiently. "However, if he asks a question, he deserves an honest answer."

"Well, don't be too honest," Lizzy said, doubtfully. "I'd rather we waited a few years before giving any of our children the birds and the bees talk."

"I don't need any birds and bees talk!" Isabelle stated proudly. "I already know everything about se-"

"ISABELLE MAE POTTER! Wherever did you learn such things?" Lizzy gaped at her nine year old daughter, who held her head high and replied in an arrogant tone.

"I'm not a little kid like James, or Morty, or Sirius. I know everything!"

"Hey, you do not! I know 'bout the birds and the bees, too! It's not that hard to figure out, y'know!" James piped up. Lizzy looked ready to faint.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Mum, it's not that big a deal. I'm sure Helen must have told them something, or Isabelle read it in one of those 'Teen Witch Weekly' magazines. Pointless waste of paper, those are, if you ask me."

Andy peered at his family over the top of his glasses, one eyebrow raised almost sarcastically. "Lizzy, I have no intention of explaining anything of _that_ nature to the rest of them. Certainly not today." He turned to his son. "Now, Morty, someone who seduces you wants you to fall in love with them for selfish reasons. For instance, if Mummy had done something to make me marry her, when all she wanted was my money, she would have seduced me."

"Mummy doesn't love you?" Morty questioned, lower lip quivering dangerously.

"Of course Mummy loves me, don't be ridiculous," Andy told him, bracingly. "How else did you think we ended up with you lot?"

"I know, I know!" Isabelle waved her hands around in the air. "First, you two-"

"Andy, Izzy," Lizzy said, warningly.

"Sorry," her husband replied, instantly remorseful. Isabelle grumbled an insincere apology as well.

"Morty, sweetie, Sir and I love each other very much," Lizzy hastened to placate the most sensitive of her children. "You needn't worry about that." Mortimer smiled at his mother tentatively.

"That's right," Andy confirmed. "Now, back to the story," he looked at his children, and came across five blank looking faces. "Wake up!" he barked. "It's not bedtime just yet!"

"Sir, I think Grace is like Izzy," James offered his opinion.

"She is not!" Isabelle glared at him, outraged.

"Is too!" James replied.

"Is not!" Isabelle shouted.

"SHUT UP!!!!" Sirius yelled. There was instant silence. All eyes were fixed on the youngest of the Potter dynasty – youngest by all of five minutes. "You're upsetting Morty," he explained, pointing at his twin. Indeed, Mortimer had gone back to blanket hugging, his smile disappeared, his small face set in a rather distraught frown. 

"Thank you," Andy told Sirius, not really sure what else to say. "Now, James, why do you think that Izzy and Grace are similar?"

"Well, they're both selfish, stuck-up Daddy's girls," James told him. "Isn't it obvious?" His elder sisters looked at him in shock.

"James!" Lily gasped.

"What?" James demanded. "It's true!"

"Yes, thank you James," Lizzy gave her son a warning look, and he shut up hastily. "Do you that Fudge is a moral character?" she asked, in the hope of sparking some kind of intellectual discussion.

"I don't know," Lily said slowly, from her seat on a stool at her father's feet. "I mean, the whole 'let's change places' thing, that's not really right. But then, he _was _drunk." 

"Even if he was drunk, he still shouldn't have knocked Donal out with a Bible," James told her. "That's just…wrong."

"Quite right," Andy agreed. "But would the toilet plunger have worked that well?"

"And the toilet plunger would be nasty and dirty after being down the toilet so much!" Sirius contributed.

"_Andy!!!!_" Lizzy looked at her husband in horror. "You can't say that! Especially not in front of Sirius, look at what you've done to him!" Sirius smiled a devilish grin.

"A valid point that was, too," Andy sighed. "However, you children are not to say anything like that any longer. It upsets your mother." Lizzy glared.

"We could try knocking someone out with a toilet plunger," Sirius suggested, hopefully.

"Or we could not," Isabelle corrected him scathingly. 

"I think it would be fun," Sirius replied, defiantly.

"You would," his father replied. "It would earn you six months worth of Tolkein, however, so you might want to think about it before you try it." Sirius's face fell.

"What happens next?" Morty asked.

"You'll have to wait until tomorrow," his mother replied. "Its time for you and Sirius to get ready for bed now."

"But, Mummy!" Sirius protested.

"No buts," his mother replied. "You were up early this morning, and you practically pulled the house down while your father and I were out. Morty needs to rest and recuperate, and if Morty's going to bed then you have to as well."

"That's not fair!" Sirius wailed.

"Life isn't fair," Andy told him. "Do as your mother tells you." Sullenly, Sirius followed his mother and brother out of the room, and Andy and his elder children could hear them trudging up the stairs.

"I don't know about you three, but I've got to do the accounts," Andy told them. "You lot cost too much." He left Lily, Isabelle and James to it. They looked at each other.

"Charming," Lily remarked. Isabelle and James exchanged a look, and for once it didn't provoke an argument.

"How can you look so much like Mummy and sound so much like Pops?" Isabelle demanded.

"Because I'm perfect, that's why."

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.****


	3. Chapter 2 - Bizarre Bargains

The Minister and the Muggle  
  
by  
  
Marcus Mortimer Caesar  
  
Chapter 2 - Bizarre Bargains  
  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies was a very bleak place. Echoes of a past long forgotten haunted the corridors, which were full of screams of those who had been subjected to such torture that it was impossible not to wonder if they would not be better off dead. These poor souls had lost everything that they had ever cherished in one man's bid for power. If ever there was a legacy of the evil that Lord Voldemort incurred, St. Mungo's was it. Prior to the dark years, the years when people went to bed unsure about their future and woke up to fear and anguish, St. Mungo's had been a normal hospital. With the advent of war it had become home to those who were no longer in full command of their faculties.  
  
Cornelius Fudge looked at his surroundings with mild curiosity. He had never been to the magical hospital before - all of his injuries were minor, and had been easily treated at home. The sterile atmosphere was actually very oppressive. Cornelius didn't notice, however - he was far too busy thanking his lucky stars that the counter-spell had worked. He could remember everything. Preying most heavily on his mind was Donal Ogilvy. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Donal would make an excellent substitute for him for a few weeks. It wasn't like anything important was likely to happen - after all, the Dark Lord had been defeated. Of course, this left him with one small problem, that problem being Donal himself. Ogilvy probably knew nothing of the wizarding world, and as a Muggle he'd be unable to perform the simplest of magical tasks. But Cornelius had a plan.  
  
It was possible to lead the life of a Junior Minister without actually using magic; Donal would have no problems there. It would be important for Donal to know something of the wizarding world, but, just as it was possible to wipe someone's memory, so too were there spells that could enhance it - at least, for limited periods. It would take very little effort on Cornelius' part to equip Donal with enough knowledge to get him through his stint at the Ministry.  
  
Since the Memory Charm had been performed, Cornelius had been moved back to the Muggle world. The M.L.E.S. men in charge of him had gone to great lengths to prevent this so-called Muggle from seeing anything unusual. Little did they know that the real Muggle lay on a hospital bed, and was receiving the best of wizarding healthcare. As soon as he had been left to his own devices, Cornelius had Apparated to his own home and put on some robes, before moving on to St. Mungo's to talk Donal into his plan.  
  
It hadn't been difficult to find Donal. He had all of the Ministry identification that would get him through St. Mungo's security measures, and it didn't take a genius to read a floor plan, even if the names were constantly changing as those patients who were not in for a long duration were discharged from hospital care.  
  
* * * *  
  
Gradually Donal came around from the unconsciousness that Cornelius had brought upon him. He looked at his surroundings, severely disorientated. The stark whiteness of the walls didn't help his headache, and there were all sorts of interesting gadgets in the room. It was almost like an old fashioned hospital room, but of course, Donal knew this couldn't be the case. Slowly, using his arms for leverage, he hoisted himself into an upright position. He had absolutely no idea where he was, of course, but he was sure that he could find out, if only the herd of elephants that had landed in his head would disappear for long enough for him to think clearly. He was thinking about how best to proceed when the door opened, and the man he had rescued from the alleyway the previous day appeared.  
  
"You!" Donal exclaimed.  
  
"Yes, me. How are you?" Cornelius asked, and in spite of himself, Donal realised that the voice held genuine concern.  
  
"I was feeling a whole lot better before I met you," Donal told Cornelius, cuttingly.  
  
"Ah, yes. I do apologise about that. I don't know what came over me!"  
  
"Oh, I know exactly what it was that came over me," Donal replied. "A rather heavy version of the King James Bible. Have you no respect?"  
  
"For you, or the Bible? Never mind, once again, I truly apologise for any misunderstandings that may have occurred."  
  
"Misunderstandings? How am I to misunderstand a Bible hitting the top of my head? It's all very well apologising," Donal complained, "but that's not doing anything about whatever it is that's having a party in my head." He really wanted to curse long and loud at this man, but his gentleman's instinct prevented him from uttering anything that would not be acceptable in polite company. "Now, if you don't mind, who are you?"  
  
"My name is Cornelius Fudge," Cornelius explained. "I'm a Junior Minister at the Ministry of Magic."  
  
"Ministry of Magic? Please, cut the crap!" Donal was not in the mood to be toyed with, and his usually impeccable manners were starting to slip.  
  
"It's no joke," Cornelius told him, patiently. "There really is a Ministry of Magic. We call people like you - that is, people with no magical talent - Muggles. Under no circumstances must the Muggle world learn of the Magical worlds existence, or everything we have striven for will be ruined. Countless Memory Charms are being performed daily to keep Muggles from finding out about our world. You are, perhaps, the only one that managed to break through several security measures, thanks to my help."  
  
"What are you going on about?" Donal demanded. Cornelius sighed.  
  
"I suppose we'll have to work it like this," he said, regretfully, and pulled a stick of wood from inside those ridiculous neon robes he was wearing.  
  
"Memorandum Inciti" Cornelius intoned, pointing the wood at Donal.  
  
* * * *  
  
If the charm worked as it was supposed to, then all of the knowledge Cornelius had of the wizarding world would be copied and lodged in Donal's memory. The spell wasn't a simple one, but Cornelius was an accomplished wizard, despite all the rumours about him having hardly any magical skill. A split second after he cast the spell, Cornelius could see the understanding blossoming on Donal's face.  
  
"I'd ask how you did that, but. I already know. So you were telling me the truth. Magic does exist."  
  
"Of course," Cornelius said, complacently. "I said it did."  
  
"So why are you letting me know all this?" Donal demanded.  
  
"I need your help," Cornelius told him, conspiratorially.  
  
"Me, help you?" Donal was obviously incredulous. "I tried to help you, and was knocked out with a Holy Book. What's next? I help you, and you bomb my house?! I can't see any reason as to why I should even be talking to you so rationally!"  
  
"Of course you can't," Cornelius agreed, placidly. He had realised that the Muggle would be quite stubborn, but he'd never thought that convincing one would be quite so hard. This man didn't seem to care the Cornelius was a very powerful man, a Junior Minister! "But then, I haven't told you what I need help with yet." Donal looked at him, now curious.  
  
"I'm listening, if only out of my complete and utter contempt for what you have done to me."  
  
"I want you to take my job from me." Donal opened his mouth to protest, but Cornelius silenced him with a wave of his hand. "Only for a month or so, not much more. You see, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead, so nothing important will be coming to my department. I have personal issues to deal with," Cornelius decided not to mention that he wanted to get away from Sian for as long as possible.  
  
His secretary, brutally efficient as she was, occasionally worried him, and after last night's debacle he had no burning desire to see her in the near future. This Muggle could find a way to deal with her, after all, he was a married man, he must have had a way with women. Surely it wouldn't be that hard to tell her to just back off. Then Cornelius remembered her cat like claws - er, nails - and decided that he wouldn't want to be Donal then, not for any amount of money.  
  
"All well and good, but why can't you do what normal people do and apply for leave," Donal demanded, still not overly receptive to Cornelius' ideas.  
  
"It's not that simple," Cornelius told him.  
  
"Well, its hardly simple getting me to pretend to be you, is it?" Donal exclaimed, exasperated. "And while I'm busy pretending to be you, who's going to look after my position in the firm?"  
  
Cornelius dismissed his concerns.  
  
"Minor details. I know it's a lot easier to get time off in the Muggle world, I'll arrange it."  
  
"And when am I going to have my holiday?" Donal demanded. "I only get six weeks a year."  
  
"You don't work during the weekend," Cornelius told him. "You'll be fine."  
  
"I can't see anything in this for me," Donal told Cornelius. "So far it's all been about you."  
  
"Ah, but there you're wrong. You see, I can repair you marriage." Or I can break it into pieces, he added mentally.  
  
"My marriage doesn't need repairing!" Donal informed him. "My wife and I are as secure as we were twenty years ago."  
  
"No, you're as secure as you were twenty years ago. Your wife, on the other hand, isn't."  
  
"How on earth would you know?" Donal demanded.  
  
"While you were out of it, I did some research," Cornlius replied. "You've barely seen your wife in the last six months - you spend all your time working. Quite often you spend nights in the office. Your wife thinks you're having an affair." Donal's face became contorted with anger.  
  
"How dare you!" he shouted.  
  
"I dare because it's true," Cornelius told him. "I can offer your wife security, and you can get on with doing what you like to do best - work."  
  
"And if I refuse?"  
  
"I wipe your memory, and you continue as though nothing has happened. You somehow explain away the time you've spent out of your office and away from home to the wife who thinks you no longer love her, and this whole affair is never mentioned again."  
  
"It would seem that I don't have much of a choice," Donal said, dryly. "I'm willing to listen to you."  
  
* * * *  
  
Donal looked at the intruder expectantly. Cornelius Fudge held all the right cards in this particular game, something that Donal was all too well aware of.  
  
"Okay, I've let you know the basics," Cornelius began. "If you're interested, I suppose I should let you in on the particulars."  
  
"That might be a good idea, yes," Donal agreed.  
  
"Let me explain this simply. You know all about the magical world purely because I wanted you to know, and there for I used a relatively unheard of charm that transfers knowledge. Or rather, shares knowledge," Cornelius paused, and his smile held something of a cat like quality. "In effect, it shared my knowledge of the wizarding world with you. But the knowledge will only be available for as long as I deem to be necessary." Again Cornelius paused, glancing at Donal, who nodded slowly.  
  
"Right, so you have control of my mind," he said, bitterly.  
  
"No," Cornelius told him, patiently. "I'm simply able to turn that knowledge on and off. Or rather, I can turn it off only once. You see, unlike Memory Charms, which can be performed several times with no obvious effect - other than to remove the appropriate part of memory, that is - the charm that I used to give you knowledge can be used only once."  
  
"I see," Donal said, doubtfully. He didn't see at all. All these not-so- scientific explanations were all well and good, but he could see no reason to abandon his life for a month, and pretend to be someone he wasn't. Right now, his main concern was getting back to his wife and children, and away from this lunatic.  
  
"Look, I don't mean to be rude." Inwardly, Donal did want to be rude to this stranger who was so like, and so unlike himself. "But I really don't have any burning desire to give up my family as you see fit. If Erin had a problem with our relationship I have no doubt that she would tell me so."  
  
"Ah, but when do the two of you see each other for long enough for her to tell you?" Cornelius queried. "You don't. And I can virtually confirm her worst nightmare." Donal did not like the almost sinister look in Cornelius' eyes as he said this. The wizard dug into his robes and pulled out a single snap-shot. "This photograph could ruin your marriage," he told Donal, looking very satisfied with himself. Donal looked at the picture in question. It was of Cornelius and an attractive blonde, embracing. All too quickly, Donal caught on to the other man's train of thought.  
  
"You wouldn't!" he exclaimed.  
  
"You see, Erin won't know it's not you," Cornelius told him. "Your wife doesn't know I exist. And she's already suspicious. What would you think in her position?"  
  
"This is blackmail, you know that, don't you?" Donal demanded. He was convinced that Cornelius Fudge was a madman. He was right, to a certain extent. One of the drinks that Cornelius had consumed the previous night had contained a potent Love Potion. Or rather, what Sian Lindsay thought was a Love Potion. In fact, Sian's potion skills were neglible (she had barely passed the class back at Hogwarts), and the whole process had gone horribly wrong.  
  
Rather than making Cornelius fall in love with her, as it was supposed to do, it had completely warped his personality. Where he was usually a bumbling fool, he was now devious and calculating, without realising it himself. But nobody knew this. Cornelius had disappeared before Sian could learn of her error, and Donal had only learned of the existence of the wizarding population a few minutes ago. The only way Cornelius was likely to return to his normal self was by allowing the potion to wear off, a process that could take anything up to six weeks.  
  
"Blackmail, bargaining - there's not really much difference, is there?" Cornelius asked.  
  
"Of course there's a difference, you." Donal was lost for words. Cornelius arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Bargaining involves voluntary action by both parties, where a deal is reached that satisfies all those concerned. Blackmail is entirely different, and can be viewed as a criminal offence."  
  
"Have you swallowed a dictionary or what? No point in using technical terms with me, Mr. Ogilvy. All I want to know is, are you prepared to do this or not?"  
  
* * * *  
  
Erin Ogilvy had aged little since the day, twenty years ago, that she had wed Donal at the Chapel of St. Mary in County Kerry. She had the same lustrous dark hair (though now it was tinged with one or two grey hairs), and the same melting brown eyes. But, although she remained the same to look at, as a person she had changed a great deal. Erin had been nineteen when she married Donal, idealistic and looking at the world through rose tinted spectacles. Her marriage had taught her that when you loved someone, it could just as easily bring you heartache as joy.  
  
In the first years of their marriage, Erin had been blissfully happy. Donal had had good job, and they were financially stable. With the birth of their first child, Grace, she had thought her cup of joy was full. When Stella arrived, three years later, the family was complete. But, as the girls grew older, Donal grew increasingly ambitious, spending more and more time at the office and less and less time with his family. Their family.  
  
Erin knew just why it was that Donal spent so long at work. He wanted their children to be secure, to want for nothing. She had supported him through thick and thin, although inwardly she hated the long nights when she lay alone, wondering what he was doing. Just recently, however, she had been growing less certain of his motives. Grace and Stella were no longer totally dependent on them, and Donal had reached the highest level of his profession. There was no need for him to spend so much time at work. Seeds of doubt had grown, and Erin began to wonder if he had an ulterior motive for spending so long away from home.  
  
"Grace! Stella!" she called. It was always the same. Both girls had a deep loathing of getting up in the morning, and it was only by much chivvying on her part that they made it to school on time. "Girls, hurry up, or you'll be late!" There was the sound of feet on the stairs, and Stella appeared at the kitchen door. That was another part of their daily routine. Stella always appeared ten minutes before Grace. She always had done, ever since she started primary school at age five. Sighing, Erin acknowledged that her younger daughter was more biddable than her firstborn.  
  
"Morning, Mum," Stella said, through a yawn. Stella was the spitting image of her father, slightly chubby, pale brown hair as straight as a ruler, and icy blue eyes. But that was where the similarities ended.  
  
"Morning, sweetheart. Hurry up and get some breakfast, or you'll be late for school." Stella picked up a slice of toast, almost reluctantly. Erin worried about her sometimes. She knew that Stella didn't tell her everything, but in the past couple of years Stella had gone from being bubbly and outgoing to withdrawn and reticent. Donal put it down to her growing up, but Erin was convinced that there was more to it than that. She knew her daughter, and she knew that something must have happened to cause such a change. But every time she tried to broach the subject, Stella miraculously found something else to talk about, or do.  
  
"Morning, mum, Stel," Grace sauntered in, fully dressed, immaculate as always. Grace. There was another problem. Grace had always been strong willed, and had an uncanny ability to get what she wanted. But just recently, Erin had begun to worry about her too. Grace was growing up; Erin knew that she couldn't do anything about that. What worried her was her daughter's developing relationship with a young man by the name of Sean Finnegan. It wasn't that Erin objected to her daughter having a romance. It was just.Grace was so young. She's scarcely more than a little girl. Of course, deep down, Erin knew that Grace was much more than a little girl, but it didn't make letting her daughter spread her wings any easier. Erin sighed. If only Donal were here.  
  
* * * *  
  
Cornelius surveyed Donal once more. The man was stubborn; he'd give him that. But, unless he was mistaken, it would seem that Ogilvy had begun to understand that he was in a no win situation.  
  
"Supposing I did agree to this, this scheme of yours," Donal began, "what would it involve?" Jackpot! It would seem that Mr. Ogilvy had finally accepted that Cornelius' way was the right way.  
  
"It's all fairly simple stuff," he explained. "Oh, it gets tedious - Junior Ministers, it would seem, get all the boring jobs, but it pays well, and it doesn't involve much effort. Basically, people send you complaints, requests and the like, and you respond to them. Occasionally you have to consult your superiors about things, but most of the time, it's orderly."  
  
"And how will I know what to do?" Donal asked.  
  
"That knowledge has been vested in you, by myself, at the same time as the rest of your knowledge of my world was given to you. Don't worry about it, it's been taken care of."  
  
"Nice to know," Donal replied, dryly.  
  
"It is, isn't it," Cornelius agreed. "Does this mean you've come round to my way of thinking?"  
  
"I don't really have much choice, do I?" Donal asked, bitterly.  
  
"Not really, no," Cornelius agreed, calmly. "Of course, this means I need to know all about your life. I could use the same charm-"  
  
"Over my dead body!" Donal told him, his voice deadly serious. "I'll tell you all you need to know."  
  
"Really, a charm would be much easier."  
  
"I said no," Donal told him, and Cornelius recognised his tone as one that would not tolerate any attempt at persuasion.  
  
"Fine," he said, sulkily. "Tell me about your life."  
  
"As you seem to know, my wife is Erin. She's Irish through and through, born and raised in County Kerry, which is where we got married. We have two daughters, Grace and Stella-"  
  
"Do they have any other names?"  
  
"Grace Eugenie Natasha and Stella Claire Elizabeth. Grace is eighteen, Stella is fifteen. Stella goes to the local grammar school, Grace is at art college. Erin does all sorts of charity work, but I don't know about half of it, so it's not vitally important that you do. I work at a law firm on Lime Street - I'm a partner. You'll need to phone James Howard up, just to let him know that I need to take some holiday for a few weeks due to unavoidable circumstances. Erin's been trying to get me to do so for years, so she'll be happy."  
  
"Friends, relatives?"  
  
"My mother lives in Ireland, and has done ever since my father died three years ago. My brother."  
  
* * * *  
  
It had taken Donal well over three hours to tell Cornelius all about his life. He wasn't overly pleased at having to do so, especially as, unlike Cornelius, he had no way of wiping memories. In Donal's opinion the whole plan was the most bizarre thing he had ever had the misfortune to be involved it. However, if he had to pretend to be Cornelius for a month, then he was going to do so with gusto. As with everything he did, Donal intended to give one hundred and ten percent dedication to the task at hand. He only hoped that Cornelius adopted the same philosophy. He had no desire to return to his life after the time was up to find that his marriage was in tatters, his business going bust, and his daughters involved in illegal activities that he didn't even want to think about.  
  
"Good luck," Cornelius bade him, as they parted ways. Donal turned for one last look at the huge hospital. The building was oddly graceful, belying the depressing atmosphere inside.  
  
"I don't need luck," Donal told him, focusing on one of the tall towers. "I need skill. And I think I can manage just fine in that department."  
  
* * * *  
  
"Well, that's finally over," yawned Victoria King, sister to Lizzy Potter. She was visiting her nieces and nephews for the weekend, and had managed to Apparate in just as the family was about to start their nightly reading. As soon as she caught a glimpse of the family gathered around Andy's chair, she attempted to think of a quick excuse to run away. However, after being tackled by all five of the Potter children, hugged half to death by Lizzy, and glared at by Andy, she could find no suitable reason to leave. Her dear sister had suggested that Vicky stay and listen to the children read, and how was she to refuse?  
  
"Please, don't pay much attention to her, children. Barbarians such as that cannot possibly comprehend the virtues of an education," Andy said scathingly. Aunt Vicky sniffled, and turned her back to him. Isabelle looked up at her, wide eyed.  
  
"Aunt Vicky, aren't you going to yell back at Sir? He called you a whatchamacallit, a bavarian!" Isabelle exclaimed.  
  
"Barbarian!" James corrected her.  
  
"Same thing," Izzy shrugged her younger brother off, and turned back to her aunt.  
  
Victoria was her role model, as well as the youngest King daughter. She was only twenty-three, and attending a rather famous wizarding learning centre in Australia. She hardly ever visited her relations in England, and when she did, there was sure to be some sort of amusing confrontation between her and her dear brother-in-law. The truth was that their spats were just for show and deep down Andy and Vicky had a deep rooted affection for each other; he because Vicky was his wife's youngest and most tempestuous sister and she because Andy was the brother she had always wished for and never had.  
  
"No, darling. I believe that there is no point in attempting to communicate with those outside my species. Apes such as that have a rather hard time understanding human speech. Perhaps one of you should give him a banana; it would make the poor creature happy. " Even Lizzy couldn't help laughing hysterically at this, and even Morty and Sirius, who had a bit of trouble deciphering the scathing insults hidden in those few simple sentences, found the effect they had on their father comical, to say the least.  
  
Andy turned a bright, ripe tomato like shade of red, but after a few tense seconds, it calmed itself into a dark burgundy, rather the same shade as his armchair. He looked ready to have steam coming out of his ears, and Lizzy was rather surprised that nothing had been put on fire. In between giggles, she managed to say:  
  
"Oh, Andy, dear, don't mind Vicky, she's just fooling around, aren't you, Vicky?"  
  
Victoria stood up gracefully, all 5 feet and 8 inches of her. Flipping her hair back in a noncommittal gesture, she said, "Of course I didn't mean a word of what I said. Words cannot begin to describe my feelings for that husband of yours, Elizabeth." With that, she waltzed out of the door.  
  
"Oh, Vicks! Wait a second, we're not finished yet!" Andy yelled after her, finally returning to his normal colour.  
  
"Andy, dear, I'm not a vapour rub," Victoria commented, smiling.  
  
"Darn," Andy said, grinning devilishly.  
  
"ANDY!" exclaimed Lizzy, shocked. "One more word out of you, and it's straight bed for you!"  
  
"Whose bed?" Andy asked, looking more innocent than Sirius after pulling a particularly dangerous prank.  
  
The Potter children exchanged confused looks, except Lily, who was looking rather smug. "Confused, are you?" she questioned. Her younger siblings nodded. "I'll explain all of that to you once Mum is out of the room."  
  
"Oh no you won't, Lily Elizabeth Potter! That is it, to bed, all of you!" Lizzy was doing something she had vowed never to do - becoming her own mother. Andy shot her an unhappy look.  
  
"Not yet, they don't. We have to discuss what they read, don't we? Victoria, do stay and give us some of your views on this chapter. After all, we have sorely missed your wit and intellect," Andy finished, loading that last sentence with an extra dose of sarcasm.  
  
"I believe I shall stay, for the sake of the children. Don't go asking them the meaning of life just yet," Vicky sighed and settled herself onto the floor in between Isabelle and James, who had found something new to argue about while the adults were bickering.  
  
"Now then, James. What did you think?" Andy questioned the seven year old. James gave him a blank look.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The book, son, the book! What have we been discussing all this time?"  
  
"Well, I thought it was whether or not Aunt Vicky was a vapour rub, and whose bed you were going to share."  
  
"Never mind that!" Lizzy hurriedly interjected. "Talk about the book, dear. Maybe that way we can all go to bed soon." At the mention of the word 'bed', all the children livened up slightly, minus Morty, who, using his twin brother as a pillow, had managed to drift off to sleep.  
  
"Morty, wake up," Sirius poked him awake.  
  
"Uuuh?" Morty blinked.  
  
Andy cleared his throat. "Right, then. What do you think of Fudge as a character, Izzy?"  
  
"I think he's a mean ol' dirtbag," she replied wickedly. Lizzy was shocked at that use of language in her household.  
  
"I ought to wash your mouth out with soap, young lady," Lizzy complained. "Andy, can't you just let them go to bed? It's obvious that they're too tired to think straight."  
  
"Oh, fine. Ruin my torture - er, fun."  
  
"You really are a sadist, brother-in-law, dear," Vicky commented. "Next thing you know, you'll be reading War and Peace to the poor tykes."  
  
Lizzy coughed uncomfortably. "Well, War and Peace was a few weeks ago."  
  
"I don't know how the children put up with you, Andrew. You must keep them drugged half the day, for this sort of thing to go on every night. Why, our father never did anything like this."  
  
"Of course not, Vicky. He just made us play sports all day, every day. I still can't look at a Bludger without shuddering."  
  
"It got me on my college team, didn't it?"  
  
"Yes, and it also you ten broken bones before the age of eight!"  
  
"It was worth it."  
  
"As much as I hate to interrupt your lovely little stroll down memory lane, I think that it's about time we put the kids to bed," Andy said, finally showing some common sense. He knew that the two sisters could reminisce about their childhood for hours, and this was the only time when Lizzy seemed to forget about the existence of her five children and husband.  
  
Morty and Sirius were already asleep, both huddled underneath Morty's ragged blue blanket, with couch cushions as pillows. Isabelle and James stopped arguing and were each content with just giving the other an occasional glare, and Lily, curled up in Andy's armchair, was far in the land of Nod.  
  
"They're so cute, aren't they?" Vicky said softly. "I can't wait to have kids of my own."  
  
"It's lots of trouble, and lots of galleons, but in the end, it's worth it," Lizzy added. Andy picked up Morty and Sirius in his arms and went upstairs to tuck them in. The two sisters helped the eldest three Potter children into their beds, then spent many an hour talking by the fireplace.  
  
"Ah, girls," Andy muttered to himself and blew out the lone candle in his bedroom, and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. 


End file.
